With Every Shade of Gray
by T3h Toby-Chan
Summary: A series of drabbles focusing on the friendship between Sano and Kenshin.
1. Futari

**Futari**

Two opposites, they were, traveling together down the night-time streets of Tokyo, where shadows from buildings stretched and danced, painting the ground yellow and casting figures into disproportion. They weren't exactly a normal sight, a tall pugnacous looking gangster brandishing bandages and a red bandana like medals, and a short effeminate rurouni, quiet and soft spoken, with long bright red hair like a kabuki wig, that spilled down his shoulders, and a scar on his cheek that was the only evidence that he may have had a life the was less than tame.

Time and time they passed by crowds, on their ventures with duty in mind, or perhaps out for recreation and frivolity(Though the latter often required persuasiveness), but either way, they drew curiously wandering eyes. None could have ever guessed who was the deadlier of the two, and it was best that way. Nor could they possibly have guessed how compelling it was that they came together in such peaceful symbiance, from opposite ends of a revolution that was a chessboard of a thousand sides, drawn closer through that undefinable love that is commonly known as friendship.

_Small A/N:_

_(For lack of a better title, I called this one "futari" which means simply, "two people".)_


	2. Irony

**Irony**

It's odd how it seems my comrades come to be. As though the more one initially intended to kill me, the closer our bonds were knit together. I can't blame them for their intentions, a lowly sinner as myself, with every deservance of death, yet the later effect is still something of a mystery to me.

You become closest to those you hate. I've learned from experience, that caring for someone can bring up a mask, a desire to protect them from the worst secrets, to protect them from oneself. One's greatest enemies, then become one's greatest loves, as they obsess to dig deeper into the darkest pits of the soul, searching for more reasons to hate, to kill, to justify their pain.

Perhaps that is why Sano and I found such a strange bond. To him, I represented everything that stood against him, everything that had stolen his childhood, his loved ones, his dreams. To him, I was the worst kind of murderer, and we both knew it. Somehow, though, the glass broke, like it often does, and somehow, he saw something that he related to within this unworthy one. It was after that, that we both trusted each other without a doubt. How strange is it, that I don't mistrust him, or he I?

I contemplate this, as I watch him sleeping carelessly stretched out upon the grass on the dojo lawn. He looks so careless, so defenseless as though he knows that I would never betray or let anything happen to him.

And that, I most certainly wouldn't.

**ooo**

(**A/N**: PS, to Ice BlueArctic Azure. This is intended to be short. Hence it is a 'drabble.' :) I'm not quite as proud of this second one, but hopefully they'll get better)


	3. Small Hands

'_He has such tiny hands_.' I notice this as I watch him clean his sword, performing his ritual of daily mantenence, as he always does. It's more out of boredom than anything that I'd even pay attention, but the motions have me hypnotised, and I just can't seem to stop analyzing it.

He must hate having to polish his sword, I suppose. It's too much of a reminder of his past. But Kenshin seems to be a masochist like that. He's the kind of guy who draws inward and punishes himself for things he no longer has control over. He pisses me off like that sometimes.

He flips the sword, and carefully, expertly runs the tattered rag over it, with his delicate slender fingers. God, he _does_ have small hands. I'd never paid much attention before.

They seem so weak, so innocent, like a woman's or a child's. They put off the illusion that they could never have been stained by the blood of other men... hundreds of other men.

We both know it's not true.

He looks up and smiles, as I lean back and chew a piece of grass, and we share a moment of sincerity and falsness, in which we both try to pretend there's nothing bottled up inside, when I know inwardly, he's still slowly killing himself.

"Itai." He barely whispers, when in an uncharacteristically clumsy moment, he drifted, and cut his finger on the reversed blade. Without speaking, I lean toward him and wrap my bandana around it to stop the bleeding and without speaking, he silently says thank you with his guilty smile.

We sit in silence for a moment, and stare at nothingness, until he politely motions that I've still been holding onto his hands. I smirk and let go as though it was an accident, but I really want to hold on just a little longer, trying to contemplate that paradox within his innocence and malice.

He has such tiny hands...


	4. Balance

Himura Kenshin never got drunk. Not to a point, at least. This wasn't to say, of course, that he wouldn't ever go out, and enjoy a few drinks, out of some festivity or another, but he always judicously monitored his enjoyment, constantly admonishing himself for being tempted to leave the realm of safety.

He always counted how much he had, and how often. He sometimes faked tipsiness for the sake of courtesy, and mimicked the image of a man enjoying a little fun for the sake of making his friends feel comfortable, but inside, as with most other aspects of his life, he faked it. He never left his circle, never let his gaurd down- not to anything, and most certainly not to a silly think like a glass of sake. There was a deep apprehension within him, rooted strongly with unknown origin. It was the fear of losing his self-sufficiency, of possibly, even if temporarily becoming dependant. It was for this fear, that he never leaned, whether literally or figuratively on anyone. He kept his courteous physical distance, for there was the danger of eventual loss; of being betrayed, or worse- betraying.

Nobody may know why, then, in that night, he drank just a little too much. Nobody may know if he ever even knew what he was doing, or if something subconscious drove him to push the limit, just a bit.

Regaurdless of the reason, that night, he swayed a bit as he walked out of the cozy local restaraunt, Sano at his side, laughing at his lack of equilibrium, even though it was clear that the effect of his own excesses was showing itself in the intoxicated blush on his cheeks.

The redhead's ankle gave in for a second, and the shoulder of his friend was the only thing that interrupted his small frame's quick venture for the ground. He gripped at the cloth of the taller man's shirt, struggling against the pull of gravity, and his own semi-incoherence. He supported himself, rather helplessly, as his friend just shook his head, and raised his own arm to help him balance. He rested his head, giving his tired neck a break, and took in the tiny nuances of that moment- the warmth of his friend's body, the balmy night air which gave way to short breezes that tickled his hair against his face, the scent of the open night intermingled with the bitter stench of alchohol.

A sort of warm and fuzzy aura enveloped him as he dumbly swayed, and experienced the safety and ultimate relief of letting a helping hand guide him for once.

It was that night that Himura Kenshin conquered his fear of leaning.


	5. Fanciful Wishes

**Fanciful Wishes**

Kenshin and Sanosuke, as most common people, were sometimes susceptible to be lost in certain fantasies.

Kenshin sometimes liked to console himself, going back, and pretending that he still had a family; that his mother had never died, holding his hand and dryly gasping for air while her eyes turned to misted glass, and his father the same way in the next room, as the undertaker came, and they pried the desperately clinging child's hands from their unshaking grip to his deceased mother. He would fancy that he'd never seen those girls being skewered on a bandit's sword; that they lived nearby his family and called him 'little brother' and played with him, and he would dream sweet dreams of things normal children would; Not be plagued by nightmares of being drenched in a familiar one's blood.

Sanosuke would sometimes fancy that perhaps there hadn't been any revolution in which he blindly devoted himself at such a young age. He'd imagine that he and Katsu were born brothers who fought, but still loved eachother deep down, and perhaps Souzo was their wise, protective older brother, who kept silent watch over them with his knowing and accepting smile. If his mind had choice of changed paths in some way, there never was a certain tumble off a cliff, or haunting echo of bullets, or macabre display of barbarism as he beheld the one he admired most being mutilated for public warning.

They both loved to fancy that they were just normal quiet people, with their normal quiet families, and they would often lose themselves in wishful thinking.

But in the end, it was all only a fantasy, and daydreamers are always inevitably broken from their reverie by painful reality. And when they came to, they would realize that there was no perfect family, but instead indelible scars from the past, and the solace of knowing they still had each other to lean on.

And sometimes that solace was just enough to keep them going.


	6. Osake to Ocha

**Osake to Ocha**

Sagara Sanosuke had a preference for sake. His brash nature wouldn't have it any other way. And while he wasn't especially above average in the art of enjoying a good evening of intoxication and buffoonery, he did consider drinking to be among his favorite hobbies; aside from fighting and finding cute women to flirt with.

Himura Kenshin, (in spite of his upbringing by the founder of all alchoholic kenjutsu masters), found himself preferring green tea. In stark contrast to sake, which returned to him the sense of desired forgetfulness, and memories of the taste of blood in his cup, he enjoyed the civility of tea. It was a quiet, mild and unassuming drink, all qualities which he desired to posess. Although he got a hard time for passing up other options, he always found his center over a steaming cup.

They had to compromise, occasionally, more often to Sano's favor than not, seeing as it was easier for Kenshin to adjust into a setting of rowdiness and idiocy, than it was for his gangster friend to mold himself to the chafingly delicate nature of tea drinking. But when they did have their tea, he was a sport about it, even through various burn injuries resulting from trying to drink too fast.

Kenshin once mused briefly over a lukewarm serving of tea, that his intimacy of relationships could be gauged by how much he could stand inconveniencing the other person, if at all. As he thought this, he glanced at Sano's mildly bored face, and although he knew that the other man wasn't especially fond of being here, the fact that he sat through it anyhow, made the Rurouni immeasurably grateful.

He topped off the two cups dutiously, and briefly glanced at the small stalk that floated in the center of his own. It was only the briefest of impulses, that he handed it over to his tiring friend, a tiny smile playing on his lips, as he sweetly said,

"Omedetou."

What he meant was '_Thank you_.'

_**(Notes)**_

In Japan, a tea stalk floating in your tea is considered lucky.

"_Omedetou_" means more or less "Congratulations."


	7. WellWisher

It couldn't be a perfectly traditional wedding, seeing as neither the bride nor the groom had any real family to speak of. They had to get by with close aquaintances to play the roles of new in-laws, and so thus, close friends were judiciously recruited. Gensai Sensei, Megumi and Tae all readily accepted roles as family of the bride, and as for the groom, it took a ridiculous amount of sake to coax his master out of the recluse cabin he'd been holed up in and attend, and oddly enough, since Tokio had somehow or another become inseperable friends with Kaoru, Saitou even showed up for the event.

The pre-wedding preparations were as standard as ever where the bride was concerned; Tae and Megumi styled the girl's hair, straightened out every crease on her shiro-maku, and tittered excitedly, going on about how beautiful she was, Tae sighing in the wonder of it all, and Megumi grinning ever so slightly every time she made the girl blush with her wedding night advice.

As is commonly known, men communicate in different ways than women, so Kenshin's preparations were far more silent and poignant. Sano smirked at him wordlessly, proudly, as he fussed over the sleeves on his new haori, trying to pretend he was used to wearing brand new clothes. There was no nervous rambling, no off-color joking or banter (although the bachelor party was another question altogether), or akward words of comfort. There was only the warm set of smiles they exchanged, and Sanosuke's affectionate punch on the arm.

That was what said it all. It was that happy go lucky nudge that said _'Way to go. I'm happy for ya.'_ It said, _'You made the right descision. It's perfect. I understand that she's going to be the most important person in your life from now on, and I accept that. We're still going to be buddies the same as ever, but you need to devote your life to her, so if you value our friendship at all you'll treasure her more than anything. Go for it, man.'_

He must have thought this a little too enthusiastically, as it took several minutes of fanning and a cold-compress on his freshly bruised arm to get Kenshin off the floor again and to the altar.

The ceremony went perfectly, in spite of the groom's smarting arm. It went by quickly, seamlessly, wonderfully, but with the slight twinge of pain to serve as a reminder where reality lay.

On the wedding night, Kaoru had thought to ask about the bruise on her newlywed husband's arm as she removed his gi, but in her haste, decided against it.

(End)

_(Post script note: A shiro maku is a white wedding kimono)_


	8. Snow

He loved the snow. It was something pure and beautiful, like so few things he was used to in his lifetime. He loved the delicate design, which he admired, as flakes fell on his haori, allowing them a few last seconds of existence before melting back into water like those that met instant oblivion on his skin. The complexity; the individuality of each tiny particle was awe inspiring. Nature was such an incredible artist.

The snow made him think about things he wish he were more versed in, like art and culture. The untouched snow spread across the country landscape reminded him of something in an old traditional painting; it reeked of pride in it's own beauty. He wished, at moments like this, that he knew more of art and writing, so perhaps he could write a Haiku about the snow; tell about how it was so wonderful in it's undisturbed glory. He was playing amateurishly with the words in his mind, trying to form something worthy of his reverent ponderings, when a tiny impact to the back of his head jolted him from his reverie.

"Oro?" he squeaked, reaching back to feel the clumps of frozen flakes stuck to the ends of his hair and rolling down his back, as he turned to gaze, wide eyed, into the childishly grinning mug of Sanosuke, snowball in hand.

He blinked a few times, a smirk slowly playing on his lips, before he reached down and scooped a handful of the white powder in one fluid motion and moved forward. Snow was very nice when left perfect and untouched, but perhaps, Kenshin thought,like life, the snow was better off when used to it's fullest.


End file.
